The Pirates of Somalia

There's a time when the operation of the machine

becomes so odious,

makes you so sick at heart that you can't take part.

You can't even passively take part,

and you've got to put your bodies upon the gears

and upon the wheels, upon the levers,

upon all the apparatus,

and you've got to make it stop!

First, let me start by saying Mario Savio's.

"Operation of the Machine"

is one of my favorite speeches of all time.

Mario wasn't a politician or some famous Hollywood star.

He was just a student who was for civil rights.

He stood on a car at Berkley

and screamed whatever came into his head.

He didn't care that he had a stuttering problem

or that he might get thrown out of school, which he did.

He just wanted his voice to be heard

and be unencumbered by the machine.

As an investigative writer that has yet

to be officially published,

I can relate to Mario's desire.

That's me behind the wheel,

Jay Bahadur, proud college graduate of the class of 2007,

arguably the worst year

since the Great Depression to graduate school,

but timing was never my strength.

In fact, good timing seems to be at odds with my very existence,

but like many unpleasantries in life,

you just learn to deal with it.

- Afternoon, shoppers... - Yo.

Hey, man. Is Mark Reiss here?

- Reissy? Oh, he left. - Shit, really?

- Yeah. - Damn it,

he was supposed to be here.

It's kind of lousy out, if you didn't notice.

He left early. Are you interviewing for stock boy or...

Me? No. My name is Jay Bahadur.

I'm doing market research on premium napkins.

Mind if I ask you a few questions?

- Your name isn't even on here. - I assure you, I am legit.

You drove all the way from Toronto

to ask questions about napkins?

- Premium napkins. - Thought my job sucked.

Could you show your paper product aisle?

But I'm just kind of busy.

Is there a reason why the six. ...reason why the six pack.

This thing does not like me.

Is there a reason why the six pack paisley napkins

are here and not here?

It's not a trick question.

I... I think because it was just easier putting them on the floor

than on the top shelf.

And would making our packaging more festive make you consider

moving the premium napkins to the top shelf?

You're probably thinking

that a person with my intellectual capacity

would loathe waiting for that gentleman's answer

to my question.

But actually, I feel quite the contrary.

I would just leave them on the bottom shelf, man.

It's less work. Less work.

Understanding what drives a mind to react the way

it does to things never ceases to amaze me.

My careful documentation of this one man's opinion could,

in its own way, reshape the patterns of napkins

on every home on this street,

including that one, my ex-high school girlfriend,

Tracy Zicconi's house.

The darkened second-floor window just a reminder

that she now resides 1,825 miles away at Stanford.

And I know it's 1,825 miles away

because I have an obsession with Google Maps,

not with my ex-high school girlfriend.

I was raised as a non-practicing Hindu-Christian

half-Indian living at this address.

This is the home of Kailash and Maria Bahadur.

My well-laid-out graduation plan

was only to visit my former residence on festive holidays

such as Canadian Thanksgiving and Christmas,

perhaps offering my skills at turkey basting or tree trimming,

but this was 2008.

Plans evaporated.

Upon my graduation from the esteemed University of Toronto,

my parents had decided to give me my own mailbox.

They saw it as a way in which to somehow legitimize

my residence in their basement.

The funny thing was that the mailman

refused to deliver my mail there,

so Mom would sort the mail

and deliver it herself after each delivery.

"Dear Mr. Bahadur, the editorial staff

"at 'Vanity Fair' has reviewed your story submission,

"and we unfortunately do not feel

"it's something we would like our magazine

"to pursue at this time.

We wish you the best of luck at other publications... ".

Blah fucking blah.

Why do all rejection letters have the word "unfortunately"

in the first sentence?

Surely there is a more original adverb to toss in there.

I vow that I will never write for a publication

that uses the word "unfortunately"

in their first sentence.

I am better than that.

Come on.

Jared? Jared? Jared.

Is that my Red Bull? No.

Look at me.

Mom says you got to shovel the snow in the driveway

so Dad can get in.

- Me? - Mm-hmm.

- You're not doing anything. - Doing homework.

- Uh, where's mom? - The elusive pink

fairy armadillo has been known to...

Mom? Mom?

Yeah?

Why do I have to shovel the driveway?

Your father and I discussed this with you, Jay,

about ways for you to contribute rent, remember?

And I'm so sorry about your rejection letter.

Ahh!

- Yo! - Ahh!

Are you, like, earning some extra allowance or something?

I'm starting to wonder why I didn't commit teen suicide

when I could. Amen.

Yo, bro, you want to, like, hit Parrots with us?

Can't. I got to submit my research numbers.

They got to be in Chicago by tomorrow.

- Then fake it. - I can't, man.

They figure out all sorts of stuff based off my results.

- Like what? - Like what holiday paisleys

are popular and stuff.

Okay, bro, you lost me.

Journalistic integrity,

it's gonna be worth something on the resume

when I apply to Harvard's journalism school.

- Right, right. - Hey, I got an idea for a story

I'm gonna submit. It came to me when I was

listening to CBC Radio today.

What's... what's the angle?

The end of the comedic dictator.

Kim Jong is on his death bed, and once he goes,

where's the dictator comedy gonna come from?

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. He's funny and very alive.

He's not funny.

He's a little funny.

He's a little funny, but no one can pronounce his name.

Your story is flawed, bro.

You guys want to hear something fucked up?

Tracy's getting engaged.

- Where did you hear that shit? - Mm, Kate.

She said she saw it posted on Facebook.

She's gonna marry her Lit professor.

No way. Tracy is repulsed by older men.

You were older.

Two years is not older, man!

It's a little bit older.

Fuck you, Crowe.

Hey, are you sure you don't want to hit Parrots with us?

No, dude, I got to...

Do some shit nobody gives a fuck about?

Exactly.

All right, well, that is your loss,

but if you change your mind, please hit us up.

- You got it. Later, dudes. - See you, buddy.

See you.

- Fucking moron. - What?

Ahh! Ahh!

Name's Bahadur, here

to see Dr. Fleshman about my back.

Have you ever been here before?

- No. - All right, you'll just need

to fill out these forms. Right.

You okay?

Yeah, I just hurt my back,

figured I'd get a jump on being a senior citizen.

So, you busting on grey hairs? To make a move on Kaitlyn, eh?

Excuse me?

That's all right, I understand.

I'd take down all of humanity just to bang her.

- Seymour. - Ooh. I was just talking.

I'm trying to keep it a level playing field.

- Yeah, leave him alone. - You know what I'm saying.

Sorry. What happened to your back?

- Sh-shoveling. - Shoveling?

- Yeah. - I got, uh, shrapnel moving

around the vertebrae.

It's a bitch.

Well, sounds like I got the better end of the deal in here.

Oh, bullshit.

Shoveling? I hate shoveling. Pointless waste of time, no?

Name's Seymour Tolbin.

- Ah. - Oh, oh, sorry.

- Wait, Seymour Tolbin? - Yeah.

The... who writes for "The Daily Mail?"

Wrote. I'm retired, sort of.

But that's right. That's me.

Holy fuck.

You are one of my favorite journalists of all time.